


The L Word

by SaekoCrolla (Crollalanza)



Series: Sports Fest 2018 Haikyuu!! [34]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 01:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16567067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/SaekoCrolla
Summary: The word 'love' is never said.Perhaps it doesn't need to be,





	The L Word

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for sportsfest, but so long ago I can't remember the prompt except it was something to do with 'being adored'

The L word isn’t spoken.

Sometimes Osamu wonders if he should say it. He tried once, muffling the word into Shinsuke’s shoulder. There’d been a squeeze back, so slight it was possible he’d imagined it. At first it bothered him because coming from a family that are so demonstrative, with the twin sides of love and hate expressed in equal and loud measure, he’d thought silence meant a lack of care. He’d thought living in the maelstrom was normal, that not living with the fighting would be dull.

Shinsuke is used to the familial bonds, to affection given by support, by knitted jumpers, or time spent together, lessons taught, examples shown and the earnest promise extracted to ‘always do your best, Shin-chan’.

But he also knows that words can twirled like a gymnast’s ribbon, high in the air, with seemingly little effort and yet it takes practise to perform so artlessly.  He heard the word, lightly squeezed Osamu’s shoulder, but couldn’t find a way to respond.

And Osamu hasn’t said it again. Neither of them have.

But there’s a cup of tea made the way Shinsuke likes it. A china teapot swirled with hot water, tealeaves not a bag, and steeped until the right shade appears.

And one day there’s half a fridge shelf full of puddings (‘They were on special’). The disclaimer doesn’t dampen Osamu’s pleasure and he sits with his feet curled under him, licking his spoon the way he used to as a child, savouring not just the taste but the fact of its existence.

There’s a walk in the park, linked fingers that don’t disentangle after they cross stepping stones across a stream.

A reminder to use suncream.

A tee shirt bought _because I thought the shade would suit you._

Jasmine-scented soap because Osamu once said he liked the smell.

An attempt at making tofu burgers, which though burnt were eaten and declared ‘good’.

 

After the sound and fury of a match, it’s the silence of the apartment Osamu craves. It’s dark outside, and he toes off his shoes with extra care, nestling his bag by the front door instead of dropping it heavily. He creeps into the bedroom, hears Shinsuke’s steady breathing and slowly lowers himself into bed. His mind is leaden; the ache in his legs is nothing to the ache in his heart. He’d cry if he had any tears left, but all he has is a dry sob in his throat.

Shinsuke, who never says the L word, doesn’t mutter platitudes. He doesn’t insist they talk, or soothe with stock phrases. He doesn’t say ‘you played well’ or ‘you’ll do better next time’. Instead he curves around Osamu, his breath soft on his neck and whispers, “I’m here.”

 


End file.
